


Defining Freedom

by AlexisErin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anachronism Stew, Background Relationships, Explicit Language, F/M, Gendry is a Baratheon, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Violence, ambiguous time period
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 19:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18857353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexisErin/pseuds/AlexisErin
Summary: Arya Stark had always thought being a lady meant sacrificing her freedom. She abhorred the idea of marriage if it meant giving up everything she loved. She vowed to resist. Men and boys were not for her. But as they say, there’s someone for everyone. It comes as a surprise when Arya actually finds herself interested in a man. One who everyone else also seems to find interesting as well.





	1. A Mother's Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> Ok in this fic, Robert isn't king and him and Cersei only have 2 kids. Cersei isn't evil, but she is VERY protective of her children. Jon is Lyanna's son, but Rhaegar is not his father. And bastardy does not have the same stigma it does in canon.

**CERSEI**

Cersei Lannister did not love easily and she did not love much. She had loved her mother. She loved her twin brother (and at best tolerated her youngest brother). She had even thought she loved Rhaegar Targaryen, the current king of the Seven Kingdoms. Alas, she figured out quickly that it was simply a girlish infatuation. She did not love her husband, Robert Baratheon. At least, not romantically. She loved him as one would love a dear friend. Cersei simply did not have it in her for romantic love. She was aware that she was not easy to love herself, but she was fine with that.

Cersei reserved most of the love she could give for her children.

Currently, the Lady of Storm’s End stood in the doorway of the gunsmith’s shop. She saw her eldest and only son sitting at a work table. He was hard at work repairing what looked to be some form of rifle. Cersei had no way of knowing. Such things did not interest her. They all looked the same and had the same purpose. All she knew was that they were dangerous and she hated that her son had a fascination with them. She hated to see him around anything that would do him harm. Though he was strong as an ox now, Gendry had not always been that way.

Gendry had been very sickly as a child. He was born almost a full month early. The entirety of the Stormlands had waited with baited breath as he struggled through his first months of life. He was fighter, as all Baratheons are, and fought valiantly for his life. But it became apparent as he grew that the circumstances of his birth had taken a toll on him. His lungs did not seem strong and his growth seemed stunted. He was small for his age and he simply could not keep up with children his age. It had been worrying for everyone. Baratheons were known for being physical specimens of great strength. Cersei has refused to let him out of her sight after one too many falls and scrapes.

When he was 5, Gendry had caught a fever unlike any other.  One that was so bad that Cersei had been forced to send her baby daughter Myrcella, only a year old, away to keep her safe. However, she refused to leave her firstborn alone to suffer. It seemed that nothing they did for Gendry worked. King Rhaegar had even sent Grand Maester Pycelle to Storm’s End to tend to the boy. Still, Gendry’s fever was stubborn as he was and refused to break. Pycelle eventually told Robert and Cersei to prepare for the worst. Robert had beat his knuckles bloody on the stone walls before riding out to further take his anger out on some poor animal unfortunate enough to cross his path in the forest. The man had returned with enough venison to feed several families for a fortnight.

Cersei did not consider herself spiritual in any measure. Her cynicism and disillusion with the cruel way the world often works killed her faith in them at a young age. But as she sat beside Gendry’s bed, listening to his labored breaths, she could think of nothing else but the gods and their apparent cruelty. If they were real, why would they give her such a beautiful child just to take him away from her so young? Why would they put such innocence through so much pain? What did Gendry do to deserve such a weak existence? She had left Gendry while he slept and gone to the godswood. There, she fell to her knees in front of the weirwood in tears and prayed. She prayed and prayed until she could pray no more due to lost consciousness.

When Grand Maester Pycelle went to check on Gendry the next morning, he had been struck dumb as the boy’s fever had broken. He grew stronger as the days went by and soon it was as if nothing had happened. To this day, no one could explain how one so sick could recover so thoroughly. Cersei took the time to pray to the gods every day since then.

Not only had Gendry gotten over his fever, but he seemed stronger for it. No longer did he wheeze after heavy exertion. He seemingly grew so fast that every month he was being measured for new clothes. As the years passed, he grew stronger and even more like his father in appearance. When he was 15, he’d discovered his penchant for metalwork. Though he was the lord’s son, the local gunsmith had agreed to an apprenticeship of sorts. Cersei hated it, but she could deny her boy nothing when he flashed those tender blue eyes at her.

But, now Gendry was nearing his 20th nameday. Most young men his age were either betrothed or married by this time. To Cersei’s knowledge, Gendry had never shown much interest in girls. That was perfectly fine with her but he would be taking over as Lord of Storm’s End in a few years. The lords of the Stormlands would love it if he had a wife before then. So would Robert. As far as Cersei was concerned, there was no one good enough for her boy. Despite their parentage (because neither she nor Robert were anywhere close to saints), both Gendry and Myrcella possessed nothing but the purest of hearts. Even Robert wondered sometimes if they were truly their children.

Of course, the Baratheon in them sometimes made an appearance in the form of vicious tempers.

“Are you just going to watch in silence, Mother?” Gendry asked, glancing up at her with a smile. It still amazed her how he was almost a complete clone of his father.

“I did not want to startle you, little bull. Those things you like to tinker with are anything but safe. I couldn’t live with myself if my actions were to hurt you,” Cersei answered. She moved forward to stand beside him. “Shouldn’t you be sitting in with your father and the other Storm Lords?”

Gendry snorted. “And listen to them prattle on about marriage? Honestly, I expected to be hounded about that by you, not a bunch of grown men.” He sat back on his stool and sat the rifle aside. “What’s the rush about it anyway? I don’t need a wife to inherit Storm’s End.”

Cersei nodded. “That is true, but it is preferable that you are at least betrothed or courting a young lady. Are women not to your taste?” she asked, raising a blonde eyebrow with a smirk. Gendry looked over at her incredulously. “I would not hold it against you if you shared your Uncle Renly's tastes. In fact, I’d prefer it. At least then it would keep one of those evil, conniving witches from sinking their talons into you.”

“Surely they aren’t all evil, Mother. I am attracted to the fairer sex. I just don’t have any interest in courting or marriage at the moment. Plus, I see the way some of them look at me and it makes my skin crawl. Like I’m a fine destrier being put on display. It’s... unnerving.” He appeared to shiver at the thought.

Cersei said nothing for a moment. She knew her son was quite popular across the realm with the ladies. At least, his appearance was. Whenever they went to court in King’s Landing, he was constantly watched by the ladies his age (and even some of the older ones). She was not naive enough to believe her son had never indulged a few but most of the time the attention made him uncomfortable. He was an introvert at heart. Of course, Gendry often worked shirtless in the Red Keep’s smithy and such things didn’t deter the small audience he would gather. He abhorred the attention, but seemed oblivious as to why he gained it in the first place. As intelligent as he was, Gendry could also be quite dense. Cersei supposed she had his father to thank for that trait. While Robert got the brute strength, it would appear his younger brother Stannis got the brains.

“Well, you can place the blame on your father for that, little bull.” She ran a hand through his black hair. He looked at her in question. “If I hadn’t birthed you myself even I wouldn’t believe there’s a single drop of Lannister blood in you. All of this,” she gestured to his body, “is the Baratheon in you. And the gods know that the realm loves a _handsome_ Baratheon.”

Gendry rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “Aren’t we going to court in a few weeks anyway?”

“Yes. The Debutante Ball is soon. Myrcella can hardly control her glee. She’s been harping on about it ever since the courier with her invitation was sent,” Cersei answered. She was not eager for her daughter to be announced as eligible for marriage, either. If it was up to her, both her children would never leave Storm’s End. However, she knew she had to let them go eventually. “I am not glad for it at all. I wish both of you could stay my babies forever.”

Gendry smiled and pulled his mother into a hug. “Mother, even when I marry you’ll still be here in Storm’s End. That is, unless you plan on retiring to Casterly Rock.”

Cersei let out a rare chuckle. “Only if your grandfather is in the grave by then. Alas, I firmly believe he’ll outlive us all.”

* * *

  **CATELYN**

Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell sat in her youngest daughter’s room. The girl was standing on a stool while the seamstress moved around her. It had taken many threats, but she had finally managed to get her daughter into the white dress she would be wearing for her debut in a few weeks.

“It’s too tight!” Arya moaned. She tugged at the material across her midsection. “And why does it have to be so... poofy.”

Catelyn sighed and looked at the dress. It was a simple ball gown; as simple as Catelyn could make it. The only flourish it had was the low neckline and bustle skirt. She knew Arya would not want anything too flashy. It was hard enough to get her in the dress in the first place. Anything too flashy would send the girl running for Castle Black.

“It is not _poofy_. I couldn’t very well put you in a shift, could I? Or worse. One of your play dresses,” Catelyn said.

Arya let out an unladylike snort. “They are not play dresses. I wouldn’t have to wear them if you would let me wear breeches...”

“Out of the question. Besides, I already know you wear breeches when you ride out to the train yard with Mycah and those boys.” Catelyn watched her daughter pale slightly and shook her head.

“How do you know I ride to the train yard?”

“I’m your mother, Arya. I know everything. Now stay still.” Catelyn saw Arya resume pouting and muttering under her breath.

Catelyn had 3 sons and 2 daughters. Boys are boys and for the most part their father took care of them. But her daughters... Sansa had turned out magnificently, if not a little shallow and vain. Age would hopefully sort that out. She was pretty and a proper lady. It had been relatively painless to see her married off well into House Tyrell of Highgarden. However, Arya was a different story. If ever there was a person who exhibited the famed Stark wolf’s blood, it was Arya. Her aunt Lyanna had a touch of it, but Arya was an extreme case. Arya was the antithesis of Sansa; of a lady.

Lady Stark loved her daughter, but she was a major source of stress. Arya just refused to bend to her responsibilities. Catelyn blamed her father for her rebelliousness. He had indulged her whims when she was a child. She had just turned 17 a few moons ago and the suitors would come calling after her debut. Most found it strange that she was not even betrothed. Eddard Stark had refused to do that to his children and preferred they choose their own partners.

“Arya! You look magnificent!” Catelyn turned her head to see Jeyne, Robb’s pregnant wife, entering the room. She moved towards Catelyn. “This is for the Debutante Ball?”

Catelyn nodded. “Arya can barely stand still long enough to see what adjustments need to be made.”

“Because I think this whole debutante thing is stupid. An excuse for all the lords of the realm auction off their daughters to the highest bidder,” Arya said bitterly.

Jeyne laughed. “It’s not so bad, Arya. Happy matches aren’t so foreign. I met Robb at my ball. Sansa met Willas at hers. You might meet your match at yours.” She laughed again at the sour face Arya gave her. “I will admit some of the traditions are a little silly, but it’s... tradition. I also think this year is the year the princess will be going.”

Catelyn had forgotten about that. The Debutante Ball happened every 2 years and it included young women ages 17-18. Princess Daenerys Targaryen had been too young for the previous ball, but now she was of age. If Catelyn remembered right, the younger sister of King Rhaegar had just passed her 18th nameday. The king would be pushing to have his sister married off. If the stories were true about her, the young princess was a rebel in her own way.

“I don’t want to be married. Just so some lord can keep me locked away in a castle, barefoot and heavy with child for the rest of my days,” Arya said. The seamstress began helping her out of the dress.

“Oh? And just what will you do with no husband or lands?” Catelyn asked sharply.

Arya had gotten out of the dress and was now putting on what Catelyn referred to as her “play clothes.” It was little more than a button-up blouse and an old skirt Arya had somehow altered to stop just above her knees. Catelyn held back a sigh while Arya pulled up her socks and put on her pair of old boots.

“I don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll join a troupe of traveling marksmen. I’m the best shot in the North, after all,” Arya said with a naughty smile. Catelyn narrowed her eyes. “Or maybe open a saloon along the Kingsline. There’s no stops between Winterfell and Moat Cailin. I reckon I could make a lot by putting one there.”

Catelyn shook her head. “There’s no stop there because it’s the Barrowlands. Who in their right mind wants to stop in the Barrowlands?”

“Who wants to ride for three straight days nonstop from Winterfell to Moat Cailin? It’s better to have a stop there.” Arya grabbed her riding crop and walked over to Jeyne. She gave the older woman’s protruding belly a soft rub, making her giggle. Then she left the room.

The Lady of Winterfell stayed behind for a few minutes to discuss the alterations to Arya’s dress with the seamstress. Then she helped Jeyne up and the two left Arya’s chambers. Jeyne must have felt Catelyn’s tenseness.

“Are you okay, Lady Catelyn?” Jeyne asked.

Catelyn inhaled and exhaled, releasing a little of the tension in her shoulders. “I just worry about Arya, Jeyne.”

“Oh I think she’ll be fine. She can take care of herself.”

“I have no doubt that Arya can take care of herself. All of my children, even Sansa, are capable of taking care of themselves. They are wolves. But, I would sleep easier knowing that none of my children want for anything. I don’t want Arya to struggle. Or worse; follow in Lyanna’s footsteps,” Catelyn responded.

“Well, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about her too much. Arya will find her own way. And who knows? Maybe the gods will be good and put someone in her path. Someone who can match her.”

Catelyn nodded slowly. She honestly did not think Arya would ever be interested in marriage, though. She was too wild and enjoyed her freedom too much. However, she did not want to chase her daughter off. If she had to choose, Catelyn would rather her daughter remain unmarried and under her watchful eye than a runaway in a foreign land.

Catelyn soon bade Jeyne goodbye and headed to her husband’s study. She intercepted a maid that was bringing the Lord of Winterfell tea and took it from her. When she entered the study, she found Eddard Stark hard at work. He glanced up when he saw her entering with the tray.

“My lady,” he said as she sat the tray down and began to mix his tea the way he liked. She could tell his eyes were watching her face. “What ails you, Cat?” he asked as she passed him the cup.

“Nothing other than the usual, my lord. Your rambunctious daughter.”

Ned chuckled. “I take it the fitting did not go well.”

Catelyn shrugged. “It actually went better than expected. Of course, Arya could not help voicing her distaste every chance she got.” She sat across from Ned. “What am I going to do with her? I think I’m more anxious for the Debutante Ball than she’ll ever be. I’m already imagining her elbows on the table and chewing with her mouth open.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Cat, Arya knows when to show proper decorum, even if she doesn’t always do it. I guarantee that she will not embarrass herself,” Ned assured.

“Ned, I love you. But you hold too much faith in her. If anything, she’ll act like a heathen to make herself appear as undesirable as possible to potential suitors,” Catelyn retorted. “I blame you for all this, you know?”

Ned blinked in what Catelyn could only assume was confusion. “Me? How is it my fault?”

“You indulged her wild inclinations far too much when she was a child. Allowing her to race horses. Giving her shooting lessons. Taking her hunting! Now there’s no taming her as an adult.”

“Arya would be the way she is whether I indulged her or not. And if I recall, I never willingly took her hunting. She would always sneak along.”

Catelyn shook her head. “Don’t think I don’t know you allowed her to sneak away to get out of her lessons as well, Eddard Stark. I know there were times you crossed her path and allowed her to go instead of sending her back. You have spoiled her rotten.”

Ned laughed and shrugged, only serving to annoy Catelyn even more. “Okay. Perhaps I may have been a little easier on her and indulged her less than ladylike whim. But it’s only because that’s her way. I can’t stifle her desires any more than I could stifle Sansa’s,” he said.

Catelyn sighed for what must have been the 20th time that day. She knew Ned was right. He usually let their children follow their own paths. Arya was no different. Sansa had taken to being a proper lady because that’s what she wanted; what she had dreamed of. Ned had supported that fully. However, Arya was not Sansa and Ned supported her endeavors as well.

“You’re right. However, I still don’t like her going down to the train yard. It’s dangerous and she could break bones or worse.”


	2. Arrival

Gendry felt a gentle kiss on his forehead and his eyes fluttered open. The sunlight filtered through the curtains hanging on the window he sat beside, momentarily blinding him. He could see the train was pulling away from a platform. Had he really slept through the stop? He turned his head to see his sister standing above him. “Cella...”

“We are leaving the Rosestation, Gen. King’s Landing will soon be in our sights and you know Mother doesn’t want to spend a second longer at the station than she needs to. You should be ready to move the moment they let us off,” Myrcella said, sitting down beside her brother.

Gendry nodded. There was not much he had to take with him except his gun belt. Something came to his memory and he reached beneath his seat. “I have something for you,” he said.

Myrcella’s green eyes lit up in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes. A small gift in honor of your _coming-of-age_ ,” Gendry said. He picked up a box and placed it in Myrcella’s lap. “Go on and open it.”

The teenager did as she was told. Inside was a black pocket pistol. The grip was elaborately decorated with silver swirls and a stag. Myrcella looked back at the door to the cabin, making sure no one else could see. Then she took it out of the box and held it up. “It’s just like I asked!” she whispered. “How did you even make this?”

Gendry feigned hurt. “You doubt my smithing abilities? Baby sister, you wound me.” He chuckled as she pushed against him with her shoulder. “You’ll have to keep that hidden from Mother. That’s why I’m giving it to you now.”

Myrcella put the weapon back in the box. “How do I carry it around? I could fit it in my small purse but if I’m not carrying it, my jackets don’t have space...” She paused when Gendry pulled out the shelf in the box. There was a small holster in it. It took Myrcella a moment but she looked up at Gendry, scandalized. “My leg?”

“Well, no one is supposed to know you have it. You know how to handle one so I doubt you’ll shoot yourself in the foot,” he replied.

The teenager nodded. She replaced the objects back in the box, closed it, and threw her arms around Gendry again. “Thank you so much, Gen! So,” she nudged him in the side, “do you think you’ll find a wife in King's Landing?”

Gendry glared at his sister before relaxing back in his seat. “I’m not looking, Cella. Especially not in King’s Landing.”

“You know all your potential matches will be there and their parents will be chomping at the bit to match them with the handsome heir to Storm’s End. I hear us Baratheons are in high demand,” she said slyly. She watched Gendry redden slightly. Like Cersei, Myrcella knew how awkward Gendry was when it came to being praised by women. Most would probably find it odd, but Gendry was a man of focus and women just weren’t a priority for him.

“Father and the under-lords have been badgering me about this and now my sister has turned against me. Only Mother is on my side,” Gendry bemoaned.

Myrcella giggled. “Mother is only on your side because she doesn’t think anyone in Westeros is worthy enough for her innocent _little bull_. She’d sooner behead every eligible female in the realm than hand you over to one.”

“And what about you? I’ve noticed our parents have largely left you alone when it comes to betrothal and marriage. I’ve also noticed the sudden influx of letters you’ve been getting over the last few months. Who have you been corresponding with?” Gendry watched Myrcella look away. She was definitely hiding something from him.

“Let’s just say that they might not have to drag me kicking and screaming to the sept.” She gave him another kiss on the cheek. “See you when we get to King’s Landing. I’m going to prepare with Mother.” Myrcella stood and left him alone in the cabin.

Gendry frowned for a moment, thinking of who Myrcella could possibly be talking about. It did not matter at the moment. He would find out soon enough with nearly every major house meeting in King’s Landing for the ball. He thought about how best he could avoid the girls who would most likely tail him. He doubted they would follow him all the way to the Street of Steel. That could be his refuge instead of the Red Keep’s smithy. Gendry did not think old Tobho Mott would turn away his free labor.

Despite how he addressed it to his family, Gendry was actually worried about marriage. He knew it would happen eventually. He hated that he would probably end up being forced into it. The only girls he only really ever talked to were Myrcella and their cousin, Shireen. He was also friends with a few of the daughters of the lords. However, he found it strange to think of them as anything other than friends. They had basically all grown up together, after all.

 _Life would be so much simpler if I was just one of the smallfolk_ , he thought glumly. He heard the train horn and looked out the window. He could see the Red Keep in the distance. They were close.

“Lord Gendry?”

Gendry looked towards the cabin door. There were three women standing there, smiling at him. He recognized them by the different combinations of green and gold they wore as being of House Tyrell. Gendry rose to his feet. “Yes?”

The one who appeared to be the leader walked forward. “Lady Myrcella said I might find you here. I’m Margaery Tyrell. These are my cousins, Alla and Elinor. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my lord,” she said. She held out her hand and Gendry took it.

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Margaery.” Gendry could not figure out if he liked the way she smiled at him or not. “Please, have a seat.”

* * *

Arya’s frown deepened as the train went through the Gate of the Gods. She could see the station coming up. Just past it, the Red Keep loomed. Arya felt as though she was going to her doom.

“If you glare any harder, surely you’ll set all of King’s Landing ablaze,” a voice said from behind her. Arya turned her head to see her cousin, Jon standing in the cabin door. He smirked at her and moved inside to sit across from her. “What did Aunt Catelyn threaten you with to get you into that skirt?” he asked with a laugh.

Arya looked down at her attire. “It was a compromise, actually. Instead of a dress, I could wear this blouse if I wore this skirt with it. Unfortunately, she made me put this corset over it. Something about my shirt being too loose.” She pulled at the somewhat thin fabric of her shirt. It hung just off her shoulders. She looked back out the window as the whistling noise from the train’s brakes sounded. “We’ve entered Hell,” she said.

Jon shook his head with a laugh. “So dramatic,” he said. Jon was Arya’s cousin; the son of her aunt Lyanna. His father was a mystery. All that was known was that he was born at Winterfell when Lyanna made a rare appearance. When Jon was a few months into his second year, Lyanna put him in the care of Ned and left Winterfell. She would drop in from time to time and she always sent him letters and gifts. If her constant absence ever bothered him, Jon never let anyone know. Even Arya could not discern Jon’s real feelings towards his wirl, wayward mother.

As the train came to a complete stop, Arya heaved a great sigh as she got to her feet. “I think I have every right to be dramatic. You aren’t being sent to an auction.”

“Why do you think I came on this trip? The ball may be focused on you ladies, but us men aren’t exactly happy about getting betrothed. Most of us are doing this against our will just like you,” he said.

Arya rolled her eyes. “Right. But marriage isn’t a trap for you. You’re still relatively free to do what you want to do. I’m supposed to stay at home and make babies.”

Jon blinked a few times. “Is that all you think a lady does?” he asked.

“Well isn’t it?”

Before Jon could answer, the door to the cabin opened. Ned Stark stood there, looking between the two. “Well come on. The sooner we get off this train the sooner we can get out of this heat.”

* * *

Princess Daenerys Targaryen stood on the balcony of her chambers in the Red Keep. From her vantage point, she could see all the nobles arriving. They were all decked out in the unique fashions of their regions and colors of their houses. Daenerys knew about most of the southern houses. They were the ones who came to court the most often. She was more interested in meeting those from the North; especially the Starks of Winterfell.

“They all look so insignificant from here,” came a voice from behind her. Daenerys turned her head as her older brother, Viserys, came up beside her. “They look as they are.”

“You shouldn’t speak of the people like that. Not if you hope to rule them one day. They are far from insignificant. They are the life of the kingdoms.” Daenerys looked back down at the nobles. “Besides, your future wife could be down there. What would she think of you calling her insignificant?”

Viserys scoffed. “One of them? And soil our bloodline? Hasn’t Rhaegar done that enough by marrying the Dornish wench?”

“I'll not have you speak of our good-sister that way.” Daenerys rolled her eyes and walked away from the balcony. Inside her bedchamber, another young girl sat on her bed reading. Daenerys smiles when she saw her. “Are you ready for the ball, Missandei? So many people have arrived.”

Missandei looked up from her book. “More than those at court?”

“Far more. Come on!” Daenerys pulled Missandei to her feet. “Rhaegar will want us front and center in the throne room.”

Viserys followed his sister and her best friend out of the solar. The halls were echoing with the sound of their noble guests. While Daenerys and Missandei walked quickly and talked excitedly about the new guests, Viserys hung back and observed. He knew Daenerys was right. His future wife was possibly among the young ladies coming to stay at the Red Keep for a whole moon. After seeing the deterioration of their father’s sanity, Rhaegar had decided it was time the Targaryens stopped wedding brother to sister. Though, everyone was aware that the only reason Rhaegar had not was because Daenerys had yet to be born. She was born soon after Rhaegar had forcibly removed their father from the throne.

The prince almost came to a stop when he saw a girl no older than Daenerys walk through the doors. Compared to how the other nobles were dressed, she looked rather plain. Her hair was thrown into a sloppy bun. Her face was scrunched up like she was smelling something foul. Viserys could figure she was. King’s Landing did have a peculiar smell about it. She must have been a noble’s servant.

He was about to say something to her when a dark-haired young man came up beside her. They favored one another so Viserys assumed they were related somehow. He watched him pull her off into the direction of the throne room.

* * *

Cersei was startled when she felt her son’s presence next to her as they were being shown to their chambers in the Red Keep. He appeared flushed and out of breath. “Has something happened? Where have you been?” she asked.

Gendry shook his head. “I just got caught up talking to Lady Margaery. I walked with her and her cousins from the station. Nice girl, actually. She knew a lot about trains. They’re very interesting. Said if I could find an engine, she’d show me how to take it apart and put it back together,” he said.

Cersei’s smile became strained. If there was one family she did not want her son marrying into, it was House Tyrell. As a Lannister, Cersei knew scheming when she saw it. House Lannister excelled in it. But, at least they did not go about it underhandedly. House Tyrell was full of underhanded schemers that smile in your face as they spike your wine. She’d sooner see him married to a Frey than a Tyrell. Knowing them, they were probably trying to gain favor with her house of origin. The Tyrell girl appealing to Gendry’s love of all things mechanical was a clever move.

 _No doubt that old crone Olenna Tyrell told her to study up on them. What woman really cares about trains?_  Cersei thought angrily. She was so lost in thought that she failed to hear Gendry calling for her.

“Mother? Is something wrong?”

Cersei blinked and looked over at him. “No, little bull. Just doing a bit of thinking. Did you like talking to Lady Margaery?”

Gendry shrugged. “She was swell, I guess. Don’t tell me you’re thinking of her being my betrothed.” He smiled at her.

“I can only give my opinion, Gendry. I have little say in whom might be chosen. Robert will have the last word,” she answered. Gendry nodded. They stopped when they came to where their chambers were located. “I will see you tonight at dinner. Go and avoid the greedy ladies as best you can.” She winked at him. Gendry kissed her cheek and walked around her.

Cersei watched him go until he had turned a corner. Her smile dropped from her face and she walked inside her chambers.

* * *

_How does what is supposed to be the crowned jewel of Westeros smell like shit?_ Arya thought as she walked down the streets. She had managed to sneak back out of the keep after being shown to her chambers. From what she understood, she only had to be back in time for the feast.

Walking along the tree-lined street, Arya took in the sights. Despite the smell, the city was very beautiful and bustling with life. Being so close to the Red Keep, Arya could figure she was in a nicer part of the city. As she kept walking, she saw the Great Sept of Baelor looming on a hill.

 _Visenya’s Hill_ , she mused. She quickened her pace a little. The walk was certainly longer than she initially thought, but soon she was at the bottom of the steps the sept. Arya walked around until she came to a statue. She stopped and stared up at the statue. She’d never seen one so tall before.

“Baelor I,” a voice said in her ear.

Arya nearly jumped out of her skin. She whirled around to see a young man smiling at her. she took a few steps back. “Excuse me?”

“The statue is of Baelor I, the king who built this sept,” he said.

Arya took a moment to look at the young man who had shared this knowledge with her. Fair hair. Violet eyes. Air of self-importance.  _Definitely a Targaryen_ , she thought. Arya looked slightly behind him and saw an armed soldier. _Kingsguard. This definitely isn’t the king, so it must be..._

“Prince Viserys,” she whispered. “Forgive me, Your Highness.” Arya attempted a curtsy. He seemed pleased that she had finally recognized him. She resisted the urge to roll he eyes at him.

“I saw you in the Red Keep when the nobles arrived. Are you a servant?” he asked.

Arya raised an eyebrow. Even if she was a servant, why was he following a servant so far from the safety of his home? “No, Your Highness. I am Arya of House Stark from the North.”

Viserys chuckled. “You aren’t dressed like any noble I’ve ever seen. Then again, I’ve heard that the culture of the North greatly differs from the rest of the kingdoms. My father used to say it bordered on barbaric,” he said.

She stared blankly at him for a long moment while he chuckled. “As we are descended from the First Men and not the Andals nor the Rhoynar, it’s only natural that our cultures differ. After all, it is us who keep you safe from the night so you can sleep soundly in your warm featherbed.” Arya gave Viserys a tight smile. “If you’ll excuse me.” She walked around him and his Kingsguard.

Viserys stood there flabbergasted for a moment. He had not dismissed her. _The audacity..._  He turned around to see her leaving the courtyard. He followed after her, mumbling under his breath and ignoring the smallfolk who recognized him.

Arya found herself walking down a street that smelled of fire. It seemed to be hotter on this street than anywhere else she had been. It was certainly louder. She looked around as she walked. Blacksmiths, gunsmiths, armorers, and other shops of like nature lined the street. She continued walking, looking in the windows.

“Oh, Your Highness! Excuse me!”

Arya turned around to see someone apologizing profusely to Viserys. He was following her again. Rolling her eyes, she ducked into the first door she saw.

* * *

Gendry was in the middle of dipping a new blade in water when a girl suddenly hurried through the shop doors. She looked around frantically and then moved towards him. She walked straight to the archway leading to the back of the shop, not even acknowledging him. He was about to call her out when the door to the shop opened again. This time, a Kingsguard came inside. He then was followed by Prince Viserys.

“Your Highness,” Gendry said, lowering his head.

Viserys looked around the shop before looking at Gendry. “Have you seen a brown-haired girl dressed like a servant, smith?”

Gendry moved his eyes discreetly to the left. He saw the girl shaking her head quickly. Lying to the prince probably was not in his best interest and his mother would be appalled. If this girl ran from the prince, something told Gendry it had to have been for a good reason. After all, wouldn’t most girls be throwing themselves at Prince Viserys for his attention?

“Uh no, Your Highness. You’re the first to walk through the doors in an hour or so,” he said.

The prince rolled his eyes. “No matter. She has to come back to the keep at some point. Let’s go.” He turned around and left. His Kingsguard stares at Gendry for a few moments before following after the prince.

Gendry watched them disappear up the street before looking to his left again. “So, why did I just lie to the current heir to the Iron Throne?”

* * *

The smith addressing her dragged Arya out of her stupor. She shook her head as she realized she’d been ogling him. He was looking at her, clearly waiting for her to speak but she had not heard a single word he said. “Sorry?”

“Why did I just lie to Prince Viserys about you hiding in here?” he asked. He did not seem mad or irritated, just curious.

Arya stepped out from the archway and leaned against the wall. “I’m surprised you did, actually. To answer your question, he followed me down from the Red Keep all the way to the sept. Aside from that being creepy, he insulted me and my house. So I told him to shove it as nicely as I could and walked away. He’s probably mad that I didn’t allow him to dismiss me. Can you believe he thought I was a servant? And even if I was, what prince follows servant girls around?” She crossed her arms.

“The ones who probably have less-than-princely intentions,” the smith replied quietly. He did not see her raise an eyebrow in question. “You say he insulted your house? That’s grounds for a beating. What house would yours be?”

“House Stark.”

He whistled. “The wardens of the North. I’ve always wanted to visit the North. See what snow looks like and all of that. I’ve heard that Winterfell is a fine place,” he said.

Arya raised an eyebrow. “You want to visit Winterfell? From what I hear, most people shun the North.”

The smith sat the new blade he’d just cooled down. “My father is always singing its praises. Says Lord Eddard Stark is one of the finest men he’s ever known,” he said.

“Your father knows my father? Who’s your father?”

“Robert Baratheon.” He said it as if it should be plain as day. He picked up what looked like an unfinished rifle barrel and began inspecting it.

Arya stared at him for a long moment. He was shirtless and covered in soot. His breeches were covered in as much soot as his skin was. The last thing he looked like was a highborn. Regardless of that, she could still see he was very handsome. She found herself looking at his well-chiseled arms and chest. Again.

“What’s Lord Baratheon’s son doing in here? Are you his bastard?”

“I’ll have you know that my lady mother is his wife. And what does it look like?” He gestured to the shop. “I’m working. A better question would be what is Lord Stark’s daughter doing down here on the Street of Steel, my lady?”

“I already told you I was running from that prick of a prince. I had originally only wanted to see the sept before I had to go back to the keep. And don’t call me that,” she said.

“Call you what?”

“ _My lady_. I’m not a lady.”

He seemed confused for a moment. “You are the trueborn daughter of a lord. That makes you a lady,” he said.

“I am not a lady.”

“Then what do you propose I call you?”

“My name is Arya.” She bit her lip, suddenly shy for some reason. “What’s yours?”

“My what?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Your name, stupid.”

“I’m not going to tell you if you give me such a cruel pet name, Arya,” he said. His tone was teasing and he seemed to enjoy working her nerves. “It’s Gendry. Damnit.”

“Gendry Damnit?”

Gendry laughed. “Just Gendry. I swore because I just saw the time. I doubt our parents would appreciate us being late for the feast. You should start...”

“What are you still doing here, boy?” Tobho Mott exclaimed as he came through the door to the shop. He walked over to the sword Gendry had been working on and inspected it. “You’ve gotten better. Much better.”

Arya watched Gendry smile. He had a beautiful smile. It made him look young and boyish despite his distinct manly physique. She found herself staring absently again as he talked with the master smith. She heard her name but it sounded far away. Gendry came back into focus and she realized he was talking to her.

“What?”

Gendry laughed and shook his head. “You have to stop zoning out like that, my lady,” he said.

Arya bristled at the title. “I told you not to call me that, you stupid bull.”

Gendry blinked at the nickname before laughing again. “And yet you can call me _stupid bull_? I hardly think that’s fair.” He reached past her and took down an undershirt that had been hanging behind her. He pulled it on swiftly, dirtying it slightly. “Shall we... Arya?” He smiled when she only rolled her eyes and stalked past him out the shop. Gendry bade Tobho Mott farewell and followed Arya out.


	3. Feasting

“You walk fast.”

For the second time that day, Arya nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned her head to the left to see that Gendry had silently caught up with her. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Gendry smiled. “I didn’t sneak up on you. You’re just horribly unaware of your surroundings. Not really a good thing if you’re going to be walking around the streets of King’s Landing. You’re likely to be robbed blind or dragged off into some dark alley where far worse things could happen to you.”

Arya frowned and looked away from him. “So dramatic. Why are you even in town? Here to find a wife?” she asked.

“My sister was invited to the ball. But I have no doubt my father will try to match me with someone.”

Arya noticed he did not sound particularly enthused about that. “I’m here for the ball, too.”

Gendry raised an eyebrow. “A little pup like you? I wouldn’t put you at past three and ten,” he said.

“Three and ten? I’ll have you know I just passed my seventeenth nameday not too long ago.”

“Really? But you’re so... little. Are all Northern girls so tiny?”

Arya turned her head, intent on yelling at him. She stopped when she noticed the cheeky grin he was giving her. He was purposely trying to rule her up. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.” She started walking faster.

Gendry chuckled. “I apologize, my lady.”

“What did I say about calling me that?”

“Well, when the ball comes you’ll officially be _Lady Arya of House Stark_ , so why not get used to it?”

Arya shook her head. “I am no lady and I don’t want to be a lady.”

“Oh? So what do you want to be?”

Arya opened her mouth to respond but stopped. She had never really thought about it. No one had ever asked her what she wanted to be if not a lady. She remained quiet and lost in her thoughts.

Gendry noticed her silence. “Think about it,” he said. Arya looked at him again. “And let me know when you figure it out.” He grinned, his eyes reflecting the light of the setting sun.

 _His eyes are so pretty_ , Arya mused. She nodded numbly.

They continued to talk about random things until they came to the gates of the keep. The guards recognized them and let them pass. When they were walking up the steps, they both slowed when they noticed two figures standing at the top of them. Both Cersei and Catelyn were waiting and neither appeared pleased.

* * *

Cersei had expected her son to come back to his guest chambers sweaty and covered in soot. She had anticipated that he would visit a forge. She had not expected him leave the Red Keep, though. There was a forge on the grounds. Had she known he would leave the safety of the keep she would’ve told him to stay in his chambers. King’s Landing gave no rest to even its inhabitants. A visitor would be eaten alive within its walls. At least he had the good sense to not dress like a noble. It was curious that he’d seemed to have made a friend while he was gone; a female one at that. She shifted her focus from Gendry to the brunette he was with. Her eyes widened in surprise.

_Lyanna Stark?_

“Where have you been all this time, Arya?” Catelyn tried not to yell at her daughter. Thankfully, Arya had not dirtied up her clothes. Her hair was a little windswept, but for the most part she still looked somewhat presentable.

“I just walked to the sept,” Arya replied. Not a lie but not completely the truth.

“Come along. We have to get you ready for the... Oh I’m sorry. Who is this?” Catelyn finally noticed Gendry. She wondered how she had even missed him such was his size. Then she saw his face as he got closer. He was practically a clone of Robert Baratheon.

“Gendry Baratheon, Lady Stark,” he said. “I, uh, met Lady Arya down at the sept and we started talking.”

“Only the sept, little bull?” Cersei walked over to them. By his expression, Gendry had not even realized she was there. “From your current state of dress, I’d say you were elsewhere.”

Gendry swallowed. Even in the dim twilight he could see the dangerous sparkle in his mother’s green eyes. He did not think Arya’s mother would take kindly to knowing her daughter had been on the Street of Steel. “Yes, well _I_ was at Tobho Mott’s. I met Lady Arya after I left,” he amended quickly. Cersei gave him a blank stare and he shrank a bit under it. His mother was nearly a foot shorter than him but she always seemed taller. She made an almost imperceptible motion with her head and he started to walk past her.

“Your manners, Gendry,” Cersei said.

“Yes, Mother.” He turned around to look at the Stark women. “It was nice meeting you, Lady Stark, Lady Arya.” He gave them a small bow then turned and headed inside.

“Forgive him. The most basic aspects of decorum and propriety often slip his mind,” Cersei said to the Starks.

 _Can’t imagine why_ , Arya wanted to say. She even opened her mouth to say it but Catelyn discreetly pinched her. Her mother knew her so well.

“It’s quite all right, Lady Baratheon. This one isn’t exactly a shining example of good manners,” Catelyn said.

“Cersei, please. We are both ladies of great houses and therefore on equal footing,” Cersei said.

Catelyn nodded. “Very well. Then it’s just Catelyn. We will see you at the feast.” She watched Cersei nod before dragging Arya off.

Cersei watched them go. She had noticed that the Stark girl seemed a bit taken with Gendry, though she tried hard to hide it. Especially when she saw that Cersei was his mother. Her striking resemblance to Lyanna Stark was enough for Cersei to not like her. If she was anything like her aunt, she would be nothing but a troublemaker. Definitely not the kind of lady she thought would be good for Gendry. She sighed. She needed to get ready for the feast. She already knew she would need lots of wine to get through it.

* * *

Arya squirmed as she walked slightly behind her mother and father towards the great hall. Her mother had made her put on an actual dress for the occasion. It was a simple gray dress that did not really make her stand out but the sash tied under her bosom felt as if it was going to crack her ribs.

 _Maybe I should’ve forgone my bindings. I can barely breathe like this_ , she mused unhappily.

“You could look a little less miserable, cousin,” Jon said as he came up beside her.

“You’re not the one having your organs smushed together. I will never understand why Southron women regularly wear these things and put themselves through this torture. A dress of the North’s fashion is far better than this,” Arya said quietly.

Jon just smiled at her. “I think you look very nice. Almost ladylike.” He nearly laughed at the glare Arya gave him. “Cheer up, Arya. We’re about to meet the king and queen.”

“I think I’ve had enough interaction with royalty for the day. I met our lovely prince at the sept,” she said. Jon raised an eyebrow in question. “Long story short, he’s a little shit.”

“I see.” They came to the door of the hall. “Well, it’s time to go play nice with all these Southron folk.”

* * *

“See anyone you’re interested in, Aunt Daenerys?”

“Don’t call me that, Rhaenys. You’re older than me.”

“What does my age have to do with calling you my aunt? You are my father’s sister, are you not?” Rhaenys cut her brown eyes at Daenerys. She was actually 4 years older than Daenerys. Unlike her aunt, she did not have the unique Targaryen appearance. Instead, her Dornish blood had prevailed and she took after her mother, Elia Martell, with dark eyes and hair.

“Yes but calling me _Aunt_ makes me feel so... old. It’s weird,” Daenerys said. She watched Rhaenys laugh softly before looking back out at the nobles that filtered into the Great Hall. “I’m surprised you came back so soon, though.”

“Why wouldn’t I come see my favorite aunt become a woman? Besides, I have a present for you,” the princess said.

Daenerys’ eyes lit up. “A present? From the Free Cities?”

“From Pentos itself.” Rhaenys held up a hand to silence Daenerys. “But you won’t get it until the... Oh he’s a cute one.”

Daenerys followed Rhaenys’ line of sight. Entering the hall behind Lord and Lady Stark was a young man with dark hair and gray eyes. He seemed a little shy. From the colors he wore, she could only gather that he was a Stark. He stood alone for a moment, looking around the large hall anxiously. The girl he entered with, who bore a resemblance to him, pulled him over to the side to where Lord and Lady Stark were to be seated.

“Who do you suppose he is?” Daenerys asked airily.

“Clearly he’s a Stark. Lord and Lady Stark only have three sons and only one of them is of marrying age. He’s already been married off if memory serves. If that’s the case, then this boy is probably Lyanna Stark’s son,” Rhaenys answered.

“Lyanna Stark?” Daenerys had heard many stories about the adventurous she-wolf of House Stark; among them how her eldest brother had fancied her once upon a time. “And the girl he was with is his sister?”

“No. That’s Arya Stark,” Viserys said from Daenerys’ left side, past Missandei. She looked in his direction. “I saw her near the sept.”

Daenerys appeared surprised. “And you spoke to her?” She watched Viserys shrug nonchalantly and narrowed her eyes. “I sense that it did not go well.”

“She’s a disrespectful little shit. A heathen of the North. Not a shred of propriety in her at all,” he said, not bothering to hide his disdain.

The violet-eyed princess smiled. “I should like to meet the Starks.”

“Yes. The wardens of the North so rarely venture below the Neck. I don’t believe I’ve seen any of the Starks since I was a child,” Rhaenys said. She glared Viserys. “The North, its people, and its customs are just as important as any of the southern kingdoms. You’d do well to remember that, uncle.”

* * *

Gendry watched Myrcella closely. She was speaking with some young ladies but every now and then she would steal a glance across the Great Hall. Gendry tried to follow her gaze. It seemed her eyes landed on the table where a few Dornish houses were seated. No one seemed to be looking in her direction to return her gaze. Gendry knew something was amiss, though. Resolving to investigate further later, he turned his attention to the others arriving.

The Tyrells had arrived shortly after he had taken his seat. Margaery had seen him and waved in his direction before following her parents and grandmother. He had to admit she was very comely and carried herself with a confidence he could appreciate. Gendry was not dumb. He knew she was trying to initiate a courtship. That was another thing he appreciated. At least she was trying to get to know him.

Servants had been walking around and filling goblets with wine or ale when Gendry saw Lady Stark enter with her husband. Behind them came Arya and her cousin. Gendry was surprised at the difference a dress and hairstyle made. Even though her face was twisted into a grimace, Gendry still thought she looked nice. He realized he had been staring when a hand clapped down heavily on his shoulder. Gendry turned his head to see his father sitting down beside him.

“Your mother informed me that you’ve been entertaining the Tyrell lass,” Robert said.

Gendry sighed. “We spoke on the train and that was about it. It was hardly _entertaining_ ,” he said. Gendry knew this conversation could devolve into an argument very quickly. He had no wish to cause a scene during their first night in the Red Keep.

“If you say so. That she sought you out herself means she intends to try and court you. It shows initiative. That alone makes her different from the rest. I think you should give her a chance.” Robert caught sight of the Starks moving towards their table. He rose to his feet and Gendry followed suit. “Well if it isn’t Ned Stark. How’ve you been?”

Lord Stark took Robert’s hand and shook it enthusiastically. “Keeping in better shape than you from the looks of it,” Ned said.

Robert just laughed jovially, patting his soft and rounded midsection fondly. “Without any battles to fight, my lifestyle has become quite sedentary,” he said. “This is my boy, Gendry.” Robert gestured to his son.

Ned looked at Gendry had blinked a few times. “It’s like looking into the past. It’s been far too long, my friend. The last time I saw this lad he was still hiding behind his mother’s skirts,” he joked. Gendry shifted nervously, knowing that it was probably true. He’d been terribly shy as a child.

“Indeed. Cersei still tries to keep him behind her skirts. Between Gendry’s disinterest and Cersei’s ability to scare anyone off with a single stare, I can’t find the boy a wife.” Robert motioned for everyone to sit back down.

Gendry tuned out his father and Lord Stark and looked at the others who had joined them. Lady Stark had started talking with his mother. He looked across from him and saw Arya sit down along with someone who greatly resembled her. A brother, perhaps?

Arya noticed him as well. “Well you clean up nicely. You could almost pass for a lord,” she snipped at him. Gendry just grinned at her. She frowned back at him. “What are you smiling about?”

“I’d say you could pass for a lady, but what lady would dare walk out of her vanity with lip color smeared across her cheek?” He almost laughed as she turned as pink as the soft color on her lips. She reached up to her mouth slowly and he stayed her hand. “I am merely teasing you, my lady. Thank you for the compliment, however backhanded it was.”

“You know him, Arya?” the one beside Arya asked.

She opened her mouth to respond but Gendry beat her to it. “My mother would box my ears if she knew how rude I was being right now. Forgive me. I’m Gendry Baratheon.”

“Jon Stark. Lord Stark is my uncle,” Jon said in return. “Where’d you meet Arya?”

“The Street of Steel. She was running from the prince, if I remember correctly.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “You were there when she met Prince Viserys? She did not tell me what happened,” he said.

Gendry shook his head. “I didn’t see their initial meeting. She ran into the shop I was working in and hid in a storage room. The prince came in a minute or so after her and asked about her. I told her I hadn’t seen her and he went on his way. From what she told me, he wasn’t very nice about your house.”

“She only told me that he’s a little shit.”

“Why are you two discussing this as if I’m not right here?” Arya glared between the two young men. “Besides, it looks like the princesses are eyeing one of you,” she said. Both Jon and Gendry turned in the direction of the dais. Neither was discreet about it, but both princesses Rhaenys and Daenerys were indeed looking in their direction.

Jon looked away from them. “And what makes you think it’s us? If the gossip is to be believed, Princess Rhaenys is fond of... _everyone_ ,” he said, looking at Gendry knowingly. The two shared a laugh and Arya appeared confused.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It mean she likes... _everyone_.”

Arya stared at Jon for a long moment. “Oh,” she said, still unsure of what he meant. Then it dawned on her what he was implying. “Oh! Really? Where did you hear that?”

Jon shrugged. “While you were out gallivanting around the city, I was mapping out this keep. There’s much talk among nobles and servants alike about the royal family and their unconventional ways. Some say it’s the Dornish influence on them. Apparently it is also strange that the queen is only now pregnant with her second babe.”

“Well, I do know they’ve been trying to marry Princess Rhaenys to my uncle for years,” Gendry said. “I don’t expect that to ever happen and if it does, it’ll just be for politics. Princess Rhaenys might enjoy the company of everyone, but Uncle Renly only enjoys the company of _one_.”

“But aren’t the Baratheons and Targaryens related?”

Gendry nodded. “My house does have a history of marrying Targaryens; most recently my great-grandmother. It’s also said that the founder of my house was the bastard brother of Aegon the Conqueror.”

“And what about you? Here for marriage prospects as well?” Jon asked.

“I’m most definitely in no rush to wed and if I do, I want it to be someone I _want_ to marry. Not someone picked out for me. But the way things are going, my father and the Storm Lords will be picking a bride for me before the year is over.”

A dark look took over Gendry’s features and it made him look far more severe than usual. If Arya was a lesser person, she would be intimidated by such an expression, but instead she found that she liked it better when he was smiling.

* * *

Down the table, Cersei was watching Gendry talk to the Starks. “Catelyn, how old is your Arya?” she asked.

Catelyn appeared confused for a moment and then followed Cersei’s gaze. She was surprised to see her daughter talking with Gendry. “She is seven and ten,” she answered.

“She seems much younger,” Cersei said.

“Yes, she does. I can’t decide if it’s her demeanor, appearance, or a combination of both that I can attribute that to.”

“The resemblance to Lyanna is uncanny. I’d wager they aren’t too different in temperament, either.” Cersei smiled wryly.

Catelyn could not decide if she cared for Cersei very much or not. The woman often spoke in a way that was simultaneously too polite to be condescending and too condescending to be polite. “They are indeed similar in more than one way. If she were allowed, I’ve no doubt that Arya would run off. However much she fights against it, she knows her duty to her house. That and she loves her family too much to run away. Still, she will do whatever she wants to do and damn the consequences.”

Cersei reached for her goblet. “Sounds like she will be a handful for whomever she marries.”

“She’s a handful already. What about your son?” Catelyn watched the other woman’s usually hard eyes soften a bit.

“Gendry has been driving his father mad with his refusal to even entertain courting. Robert is nearing the end of his rope, though. Gendry is nine and ten and will be taking over the lordship in a few years,” she said.

“Robert is eager to retire?”

Cersei laughed dryly. “If he could have retired when Gendry was born, he would have. I don’t think there is a more reluctant lord in all of Westeros. Well, after his son maybe. Gendry is far more at home as a smith than a lord. But usually those who don’t wish for power make the best leaders.”

“It would seem you and I have a similar problem,” Catelyn said. She would have thought someone with Gendry’s pedigree would be betrothed already. To hear he was having none of it was a bit of a shock. She looked down the table at him. He was staring off into space with a small frown on his face, as if he was thinking hard. Her eyes switched to Arya, who was looking at him with something close to concern on her face.

* * *

The feast dragged on for Arya. Jon and Gendry had started talking about things she had no interest in. She barely touched the roasted pork on her plate, instead stabbing it repeatedly with her knife. Every now and then she would catch herself looking at Gendry. When she did catch herself staring, she sighed irritatedly and stabbed her meat harder. What was wrong with her? She’d known him for at the most 5 hours and she was practically drooling over him.

 _Sansa would have a good laugh to see me mooning over a boy. He isn’t even that handsome. He just has pretty eyes_ , Arya thought angrily. She hated feeling like this. She was about to get up and leave the feast when King Rhaegar called for music to play and dancing to begin. She groaned a little louder than she intended to.

Jon nudged her. “Not up for dancing, cousin?”

“Not in the least. Maybe I could make an escape during all the fuss,” Arya replied.

“Aunt Catelyn is probably filling your card herself as we speak.” Jon caught the youngest princess looking at him again. She immediately averted her eyes.

* * *

“Is he still looking?” Daenerys asked Missandei while determinedly looking in another direction.

Missandei laughed softly and looked in the Starks’ direction. “He’s looking over here now. I’m surprised he didn’t notice earlier. You have been burning holes into his head this whole night,” she answered quietly.

Daenerys sighed. “Was I really that obvious?”

“I can hear the gossip tomorrow already. _Did you see who Princess Daenerys was looking at? She was staring at the Stark boy all night. Is there something between them? Is that who she’ll mar_...”

“I get the point, Missandei.” Daenerys pouted a little. “He probably won’t ask me to dance.”

Missandei frowned. “And why not?”

“Because I’m the princess. There’s a reason you’re my only friend and it isn’t because Viserys is an asshole.”

“You think he might be intimidated by your status? Then go ask him yourself,” Missandei said.

“I can’t do that!” Daenerys whispered. She appeared shocked that Missandei would even suggest such a thing.

“Well if you won’t, then I will.” Missandei rose from her seat.

“Missandei!” Daenerys whispered loudly. Missandei simply looked back at her with a mischievous smile on her face. She made her way over to the table where the Starks were sitting and stopped in front of the one Daenerys had been eyeing all night. They spoke for a moment and then he stood up. He took Missandei’s hand and led her to the dance floor. Missandei gave Daenerys a wink just as they started dancing. Daenerys resisted the urge to cover her face with her hands.

“Has everyone forgotten their manners tonight?” Viserys murmured, but Daenerys heard him.

* * *

“So, um, I’m Jon. What’s your name?” Jon asked the pretty girl he was dancing with.

“Missandei. I’m Princess Daenerys’ companion.”

“Companion?” Jon raised an eyebrow.

“We have been together since we were very young.” Missandei watched Jon nod slowly. “You should ask her to dance,” she said suddenly.

Jon nearly tripped over her feet. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Ask the princess to dance. Surely you’ve noticed that she has been staring at you all night.” Missandei looked in Daenerys’ direction again. As expected, her friend was red in the face. “She’s been too, I believe this is the correct translation from High Valyrian, _chickenshit_ to ask you herself. It’s also not customary for a woman to ask and especially not the princess. What will people say? She also figured you wouldn’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re intimidated.”

“I am not intimidated,” Jon said a little louder than he intended. He only drew the attention of those closest to them but knew he needed to lower his voice. “I am not intimidated.”

Missandei stepped away from him. “Then you won’t mind going to ask her. Thank you for the dance, Jon Stark.” She turned around and began to walk back to the dais.

Jon stood in the middle of the floor alone now. He thought about going to sit back down, but instead he looked towards the princess. Missandei was returning to her seat beside her. _Get it together, Stark. She’s just a girl... who is third in line for the throne..._  Jon shook his head. _Fuck it._

* * *

Daenerys’ eyes widened when she noticed him walking in her direction. She looked over at Missandei. Missandei was smiling into her goblet, still looking just as impish as before. Then she noticed the shadow looming over her and slow raised her head.

“Would you like to dance, Your Highness?”


	4. Skeet

The Great Hall quieted a little as Jon led the youngest princess to the floor. Both Jon and Daenerys suddenly felt the weight of everyone’s stares on them. The excited and surprised whispers were barely drowned out by the music. The two began to dance in silence. Daenerys watched Jon but he was determinedly looking down at their feet. There was enough space between them to put a third person. She frowned a little.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

Jon did not look up at her. “I thought we were dancing,” he said.

“Then why are you holding me like I have some sort of disease?”

Jon finally did look up. He saw that she was right. Hesitantly, he pulled her a little closer and she smiled at him. “Is... Is this better, Your Highness?”

Daenerys nodded. “Much. But you don’t have to call me that. At least not right now.” She nearly laughed at the quizzical look he gave her. “What I mean is that I don’t mind dropping the formalities in a more relaxed setting. However, my family are sticklers about it. The only person really allowed to call me by my first name is Missandei. By the way, I never caught your name.”

She spoke so quickly that Jon had trouble following her for a moment. “Uh, Jon. Jon Stark.” He cleared his throat. “If you do not want me to use an honorific, what do you want me to use?”

“My actual name is fine. My family calls me Dany sometimes. Either one of those is fine.” She smiles at him. His nervousness was endearing. “So tell me about yourself, Jon Stark.”

* * *

Arya took a long swig of her wine. She had been left at the table alone. After Jon left, Gendry had started talking with his father. The two had tried to remain quiet but Arya caught bits and pieces of their discussion. Robert wanted Gendry to go mingle; preferably with the Tyrell girl. After more harsh but hushed whispers, it was Cersei who finally got Gendry out of his seat by telling him to at least dance with one of the young ladies. Gendry had pouted childishly for a whole five minutes before sighing and stomping off to do as his mother bid.

He’d ended up dancing with Margaery Tyrell anyway. From the looks of it, he’d warmed to her enough to stop scowling. For reasons unknown, Arya felt like slapping the pleased expression off of Margaery’s pretty face.

“If that boy is the image of me, then you are definitely the image of your aunt.”

Arya blinked, realizing that Robert was talking to her. She turned her head to look at him. “My lord?”

Robert smiled at her. “I was saying you look just like your aunt. A fascinating lady, your aunt was.”

Ned chuckled. “You sound as if you still yearn for her, Robert.” The other man shook his head. “Oh? You’ve finally let her go?”

“Not completely. I don’t think anyone ever truly gets over their first love.” Robert turned his attention back to Arya. “Lyanna was indeed a troublemaker. Men would go to war for her and she knew it. She played us all like fiddles and enjoyed every moment.”

“If memory serves, I do remember you and Rhaegar almost starting a war between the Crownlands and Stormlands over a girl from the North,” Cersei said right before taking a sip of her wine.

Catelyn nodded. “Yes. While the rest of Westeros waited with bated breath at your pissing contest. Meanwhile, Lyanna ran off to the Free Cities, leaving you both looking like fools.”

Robert mumbled something under his breath before turning his attention back to Arya. “Tell me. Do you share the same thirst for adventure that Lyanna did?”

Arya nodded. “I would suppose so. Everyone constantly says I remind them of her. I’m hardly my own person most times,” she replied testily. Her tone went over Ned and Robert’s heads. However, it did not escape Catelyn and Cersei. Both women gave Arya a look. Catelyn looked as though she could throttle Arya while Cersei simply appeared amused. “Mother, may I...”

“Excuse me, Lady Arya?”

Arya turned around to see a young man perhaps a bit older than herself standing there. He was blond with eyes that almost seemed purple with a cursory glance. She took in the colors he wore. _House Dayne_ , she deduced.

“Would you like to dance, Lady Arya?” he asked when Arya did not respond.

She was close to refusing him but she could practically feel her mother burning holes into her scalp with a sharp stare. She reluctantly decided that dance would not kill her. “Sure,” she said. She turned back around and finished off her wine before taking the Dornishman’s hand to be led to the floor.

* * *

“Do you ride, my lord?”

“You don’t have to address me as such, my lady.”

“Then I should ask the same of you. Call me Margaery and I shall call you Gendry. Deal?”

Gendry smiled at his dance partner. “It’s a deal.” He noticed something caught Margaery’s eye behind him. “What is it?”

“It looks like Ned finally got up the gumption to ask her,” Margaery said with a smile.

“Ned?” Gendry maneuvered them around so he could see what she saw. He saw Arya dancing stiffly with a rather slight boy. “Who is Ned?”

Margaery looked back up at Gendry. “You don’t know Edric Dayne? He’s the new Lord of Starfall in Dorne. He’s a shy one. I had asked if there was anyone he’d like to dance with and he said he wouldn’t mind Lady Arya. By the way, you never answered my question.” She smoothly changed the subject, drawing Gendry’s attention back to her.

“Which was?”

“Do you ride? A few of us were thinking about riding out through the King’s Gate to the tourney grounds tomorrow. My grandmother talked to the king about letting us borrow their horses. Maybe we could talk the princess into going as well. It should be fun,” Margaery said.

Gendry shrugged. “Are you sure she’d even want to?”

Margaery shrugged. “They say she only has her one friend. Prince Viserys is said to be very protective of her. I doubt they leave the Red Keep very much. I think she’ll agree.” The music stopped as she finished talking. They released each other and stepped back. “It was nice dancing with you, Lord Gendry.” Margaery curtsied politely and Gendry bowed slightly. Then she scurried off back to her seat where her cousins were waiting for her.

Gendry almost ran back to his seat to avoid catching anyone else’s eye. Somehow, Arya had gotten back before him. He smirked when he saw her exasperated expression. “Did you have fun?”

Arya frowned at him. “I should be asking you that question. Lady Margaery really seems taken with you.”

“Not nearly as much as the Lord of Starfall is taken with you,” Gendry teased back. He laughed when Arya’s snorted and looked away from him. “Imagine a she-wolf of the North marrying a Dornishman.”

“Do you think he’ll be able to thaw my cold, dead heart?” Arya matched his sarcasm while batting her eyes.

“Milady, I don’t think even the flames of the Red God could thaw your heart.”

Arya blinked. _Milady, not my lady_ , she noticed.

“You wound me, my lord.” Though she said it with mock hurt, her face remained stoic. She looked away from Gendry, effectively ending their brief conversation . She wanted to leave before anyone else decided they wanted to dance with her. She noticed Jon and the princess were now talking with a few of the other girls. She rolled her eyes at the fawning the girls did over both Jon and the princess.

Gendry easily picked up on Arya’s increasingly surly mood. He wondered why she seemed so incredibly annoyed with everything and followed her eyes to where she was glowering at the group surrounding her cousin. “They’re probably talking about going riding tomorrow,” he said.

Arya raised an eyebrow and faced Gendry again. “Riding? Them?”

“Why does that surprise you?”

The she-wolf snorted. “They seem more likely to sit in a carriage than on a horse.”

Gendry chuckled. “I don’t think so. Lady Margaery is fond of trains as well. That could be considered against the grain,” he said. He waited for Arya to say something else but she remained quiet. “Do you want to come along?”

“Whether I want to or not doesn’t matter. If my mother gets wind of it then she’ll make me go,” Arya replied. “I do like riding, though. So I guess it won’t be all bad. At least I won’t have to dress up for it.”

* * *

Arya had spoken too soon.

Catelyn had no problem with her daughter wearing trousers to ride in. She seemed to prefer it since she knew Arya would refuse to ride side-saddle. But instead of her usual loose tunic, Catelyn had forced Arya into another corset. So now she was riding light gray riding trousers and a matching corset over her blouse. After a thinly-veiled threat of punishment if she did anything untoward, Catelyn had allowed her to go off with Jon to meet the others in the stables.

“Did the princess agree to coming on this little excursion?” Arya asked as the cousins walked to the stables. She was still eating on an apple from breakfast.

“Prince Viserys did not seem fond of the idea at first, but Princess Rhaenys helped convince King Rhaegar to allow it,” he answered.

Arya raised an eyebrow. “How?”

Jon smirked. “By suggesting the prince accompany Dany as well.”

“ _Dany_ , eh?” Arya raised an eyebrow. Jon seemed to realize what he said and looked away from her. “Only one dance and you’re already on familiar terms with the princess. I’m impressed, cousin.”

“As if you can talk. You and the young Lord Baratheon seemed to be getting along quite amiably,” Jon said slyly.

Arya rolled her eyes and shrugged. “I guess he’s not so bad. Dumb as a bull, though,” she said.

Jon chuckled. “I found him quite intelligent. His knowledge of weaponry is very impressive.”

The young lady said nothing else, but Gendry remained at the back of her mind. If she was honest with herself, she did find him interesting. He did not seem put off by her unorthodox attitude towards being a lady. In fact, he had seemed very amused by it. Arya did not know quite what to make of that. The closer they got to the stables, the louder the sound of talking got. Arya saw the horses before she saw anyone else. Her eyes lit up and she quickened her steps to get to them.

Myrcella noticed the Starks coming up to them. “Good morning, Arya. We were worried you wouldn’t come. Lady Catelyn assured us you were, though,” she said.

Arya decided the blonde was much too chipper for so early in the morning. It did explain why the Great Hall had been relatively sparse when Arya had gone to find something to eat. One of the horses gently nudged her, noticing the half-eaten apple in her hand. Arya smiles and gave the rest to the horse.

“A Dornish sand steed,” she whispered.

“Yes. The stable master decided that these were the best for the ladies to ride. He says they’re easier to mount than the destriers. I’m used to riding destriers, though. It’s mainly all we have in the Stormlands,” Myrcella said. She noticed the look Arya was giving her and giggled. “The Storm Lords love a good destrier...”

“... and Father finds it most amusing to see his little doe sitting atop such a massive animal,” Gendry interrupted, coming up behind Myrcella. “If you can ride a war horse, then you can ride a sand steed. Good morning, Starks.”

“Hello, Gendry. Have you seen the...” Jon trailed off when he saw Daenerys standing with the other ladies. “I’ll, uh, be back.” He stepped away from them in her direction.

Arya shook her head. “A smitten idiot, that one.”

Myrcella giggled. “I think it’s cute. They weren’t very subtle about their interest in each other. Come. Let’s get ready to ride out.” She grabbed Arya’s hand and pulled her along.

“Milady.” Gendry gave her an exaggerated bow. She elbowed him in the side and stomped off after his sister.

There was a party of nearly 10 of them that headed out of the city. Arya rode her assigned sand steed between Jon and Gendry. The princess and her companion rode just in front of them. The people along the sides of River Row cheered and waved when they saw the prince and princess were with them. Arya found it a little strange that Gendry was not speaking. She chanced a glance in his direction to see him glaring ahead of them. She followed his gaze. At the head of the party was Myrcella. Riding beside her was Trystane Martell. The two were talking quite amiably. Arya smirked.

“Myrcella makes friends fast,” she said. Gendry snorted. “Are you familiar with Trystane Martell?”

“Only that he is related to the queen. I’m sure that he’s been the one corresponding with her over the last few months,” he said tersely.

Arya nodded. “Are they betrothed?”

“If they are, I was not made aware of it.”

The she-wolf nearly laughed at his “stern” look. Never had she seen someone look so ridiculous when frowning. _Not necessarily ridiculous. Maybe childish is a more accurate description. I can’t take him seriously. It’s more of a pout than a frown_ , she mused with a small laugh.

Gendry turned his intense stare on her. “What are you giggling about?”

“You’re pouting.”

She may as well have cursed at him by the affronted expression he gave her. “I am not,” he argued.

“You are. Your face is as sour as a spoiled child’s. Are you worried about Myrcella? If they’ve been corresponding, then at least they’re getting to know one another. Some of us will just be married off with no say,” she said.

Gendry slumped a little on his saddle. “Maybe you’re right. Our father will have a fit if she marries before I do. Maybe I should find someone I’m at least friendly with.” He cut his eyes towards Arya. “Will you marry me, Lady Arya?” His voice was sickly sweet and he was smiling annoyingly at her. Arya narrowed her eyes at him and he just laughed.

“I’d sooner throw myself off Aegon’s High Hill into Blackwater Bay than marry you, Lord Gendry,” she retorted as they trotted to a stop at the King’s Gate. “And I hardly think of you as a friend.”

“Have mercy on my heart, milady. I thought we were getting on fine,” he said, trying to appear sad.

“Oh please.” Arya looked away from him when she saw him giving her a dopey smile.

* * *

The group made their way out of the gate and towards the tourney grounds. It was mostly empty except for the groundskeepers. Gendry watched the others ride around the grounds. He spotted the skeet shooting area and dismounted his horse. A stablehand came by to take the reins from him.

“Fancy a race, Your Highness?” Margaery asked when the ladies got out further into the field.

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. She was a decent rider, but she had never raced on a horse. There was simply not enough space to gallop in the Red Keep. Margaery seemed sporting enough, though. So she nodded. “All right, Lady Margaery. But I’m afraid I can already see you leaving me behind. I’ve never actually raced before. I’m not sure I’d be much competition.”

Margaery laughed. “Nonsense. You seem a good rider. Bringing your steed to a gallop will be simple. Come along.” She lead the princess to a clearing.

“This should be interesting,” Arya said. She could tell from Margaery’s mannerisms that she was quite experienced. She could barely hear Margaery giving the princess instructions.

“She should not be racing.”

Arya flinched. She looked to her right. Prince Viserys had ridden up beside her and was glaring at where Margaery and Daenerys were. “Why not?”

“She’ll only hurt herself. She can barely stay upright at a trot,” he said. “Not like you, though. You seem to be a decent enough rider. Why aren’t you racing Lady Margaery?”

“I was not asked,” Arya replied dryly. She had no desire to speak with the prince. “Shouldn’t you be with the other lads? Or are you going to shadow your sister all day?” Her eyes were drawn to Missandei when she heard the other girl stifle a laugh. Arya gave her a small smile. She could practically feel the ire rolling off of Viserys and looked back at him.

Viserys scoffed at her. “I have never met such a rude lady,” he said.

“I should hope not, Your Highness. However, I am no lady.” Arya gave him a mocking smile.

“Viserys! Missandei! Watch me!” Daenerys called from her position in the field. Missandei waved at her to let her know she was watching. Margaery muttered something beside her and a few seconds later, both of the horses took off.

* * *

Jon walked up to Gendry, who was examining a shotgun used for the skeet shooting. “You any good at this game?” he asked.

Gendry smirked. “I am the son of Robert Baratheon. I was bred for this,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. “What about you? Think of yourself as a good shot?”

The young Stark shrugged. “I get by. Arya is much better than I am, though. She’s the one who’ll give you a good go of it.”

“Well, then we must get a contest started.”

Arya and Margaery were clearly the best riders with neither able to beat each other. It made the irrational (and unwarranted) dislike Arya had for her dull a bit. Arya found that spending time with the other ladies was not so bad; even if sometimes their conversation devolved into things she had absolutely no interest in. The sound of a gunshot caused them all to look back towards where they had left most of the men. Jon was aiming towards the sky when a clay plate went flying. They watched him shoot. He hit the plate and it shattered. The ladies around Arya clapped in appreciation and she just rolled her eyes. Jon lowered the shotgun and gave an exaggerated bow.

“Care to join us in a friendly competition, cousin?” he yelled over to Arya.

“I wouldn’t want to embarrass you too much in front of all these pretty ladies, young lordling!” Arya called back.

“Oh? And here I told Lord Gendry here that you’re the best shot in the North. You’d make me a liar, cousin?”

“What you told Lord Gendry has nothing to do with me, my good sir. You should’ve kept your mouth shut.”

“Go on, Lady Arya!” Margaery said. The she-wolf looked over at the other girl. “I’d love to see what the best the North has to offer. The gods know the men of the south could use a bit of humbling.”

“Gendry is good,” Myrcella looked fondly towards her brother, “but I’d put my money on Arya anyway.”

Arya nodded. “Very well, ladies. I’ll go show the boys how it’s done.” She pulled on the reins and trotted back across the field. When she got across, she smoothly dismounted and handed the reins to a nearby stableboy. “Who wants a bruised ego?”

“Why on earth would our egos be bruised?” Gendry asked.

Arya finally noticed him. He had removed his riding jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. She found herself staring at him dumbly. Again. _Why does he have to be so distractingly attractive?_ she lamented mentally. Shaking her head, she picked up one of the shotguns and checked if it was loaded. It was not, so she busied herself to avoid looking at Gendry.

“I thought you were a smith.” Everyone turned to see Viserys had joined them. He had addressed Gendry.

The other man smiled and shrugged. “I am a smith. It’s something I do in my spare time. Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End, future Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, at your service, Your Highness.”

“Tell me, smith.” Viserys cut his eyes to Arya. “When I asked if you had seen someone, were you telling the truth?”

“Why would I have lied to you, Your Highness?” Gendry appeared genuinely bewildered but Arya knew better. He’d cleverly avoided answering the question altogether. Viserys raised an eyebrow but said nothing else on the matter. “Ready, milady?” His tone returned to the teasing tone he seemed to have reserved for Arya.

Arya walked out to the range. She turned her head. “Well?”

Jon laughed. “I believe you’re supposed to say _pull_ to let us know you’re ready.”

“Well then _pull_!” Arya aimed. Seconds later, two plates were released. Arya shot them both in quick succession.

Gendry whistled as he came up behind her. “Not bad. May I?”

Arya stepped back and watched him take aim. When the plates were released, he easily shot them down and turned to face Arya. She simply reloaded her shotgun and stepped past him. She took her turn, perfectly, and sauntered last Gendry with her nose up. He was just as haughty when he came back having not missed one.

Behind them, Jon sighed. “This could take a while.”

* * *

It was 10 rounds later when Gendry’s concentration broke and he missed one of the plates.

“Shit,” he mumbled. He turned to see Arya wearing a shit-eating grin. “You have bested me fair and square, milady.”

Arya nodded and gave his shoulder a pat. “You’re not half bad, Baratheon. But it was always going to end this way. The North never loses.” Arya noticed the ladies were clapping for her across the field. She gave them a low bow to accept their gratitude. When she turned around, she saw Viserys was examining one of the shotguns. “Your Highness, you should be more careful with the way you hold that,” Arya said slowly.

Viserys was being quite careless with the lackadaisical way he held the shotgun. Luckily he was not pointing it at anyone. “What?” He looked over at Arya. “I’m not pointing it at anyone.” He walked forward towards the range.

“I think you should wait for the others to pass by before shooting. You could startle the horses.”

The prince rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me what to do, Stark. Just pull.” He took aim. Arya grumbled and stormed past him as the plates were released.

Myrcella and Daenerys were riding back over to the group when Viserys pulled the trigger. Daenerys’ horse was unfazed by the sound but Myrcella’s was spooked. Without warning, the horse reared up. Normally, Myrcella would not be thrown from a horse so easily, but she had been distracted by her conversation with Daenerys. Instead, she fell back off the horse and it took off across the field, narrowly missing trampling her.

Gendry had turned around just as his sister went flying off her horse. “ **CELLA**!”

Arya was already running to where Myrcella had fallen. She fell to her knees in the dirt at the same time Trystane Martell got to her. They looked the blonde over. Gendry and Daenerys were soon beside them as well. Myrcella lay very still, worrying them all.

“Cella?” Gendry asked. He gently touched her cheek. She groaned and her face twisted into a pained frown. “Cella, can you speak?”

“Yes,” came the hoarse whisper. Her eyes fluttered open. She saw Gendry’s wide eyes staring down at her. Trystane, Arya, and Daenerys were hovering around her as well. “What happened? Feels like I got hit by a train. My arm...”

Trystane winced along with everyone else when they saw that Myrcella’s arm was obviously broken. Clearly the pain had not really registered for her yet. Still, he gave her a weak smile. “Not a train this time. You were thrown from your horse.”

“I’ve never fallen from a horse in my life,” she whispered. “Gen, I’m so tired. My head hurts so bad. My arm feels weird, too.”

Trystane looked at Gendry. “I’ll ride ahead to alert the maester,” he said.

Gendry nodded. “Let’s get you up and back to the keep,” he said. He moved to scoop her up in his arms. Myrcella just winced a bit, but managed to wrap her good arm around her brother’s neck. Jon had led one of the destriers over to them. Gendry managed to situate Myrcella on the horse before climbing on behind her. He could see her losing consciousness. “Come on, Cella. You gotta stay awake until we get to a maester.”

“But ‘m tired, Gen,” she mumbled, leaning against him. “And dizzy.”

“Yes, I know but try for me.” He looked down at the others.

“We’ll be along right behind you,” Daenerys said. Gendry nodded. He looked over and saw the prince finding something very interesting on the shotgun. Then he rode off towards the exit of the grounds.

Arya turned her gaze to Viserys. He had not even bothered to come see if Myrcella was all right. “You little piece of shit! You could have killed her!”

“Arya, I don’t think...”

“Shut up, Jon!” Arya got to her feet and advanced on Viserys. “I told you that you’d startle the horses. All you had to do was wait! Are you so stupid you can’t follow orders?” She stopped moving when Jon caught her around the waist.

“You don’t give me orders, you heathen.” Viserys glanced over at Daenerys. “And you’ll just allow her to talk to me like this?”

Daenerys frowned at him and crossed her arms. “Yes. You deserve every bit of it. You’re lucky Lord Gendry did not voice his thoughts. By the scathing glare he gave you, he wanted to throttle you. What if your carelessness had thrown me from my horse instead? Huh? What then?”

Still on her own steed, Margaery whistled loudly to gain their attention. Everyone whipped around to look at her. “Standing around here and arguing won’t do Myrcella any good. Let’s get back to the keep before someone else gets hurt.”


End file.
